Chamber Ricky
Chamber Ricky. Twenty-four years old. At 191 centimeters tall with a sturdy 90-kilogram frame, he was a promising rookie drafted by Oakland in the first round of the 2016 draft. But his personality was a bit prickly—he'd clashed with teammates in Double-A, and even those who'd spent half of last season with him weren't exactly rolling out the welcome mat for his return.
While his teammates gossiped about Chamber Ricky, one player tuned out the team drama and focused solely on practice. None other than Yoo Min-hoo.
Thwack! The sharp sound of the ball slamming into the mitt echoed through the bullpen.
The bullpen catcher, Rexon, let out a low whistle as he caught Yoo Min-hoo's pitch. He caught the kid's stuff every day, yet it still amazed him every time. Rexon had bounced around from team to team as a third-rate player who never quite made it to the majors, handling countless rookies' pitches over the years. Among all those prospects he'd seen come and go, Yoo Min-hoo stood out like no other.
It wasn't just raw velocity. Plenty of guys threw harder. What struck Rexon was the kid's growth rate. He'd been catching for Yoo Min-hoo since February, and the change was stark. In just three months, the pitcher had improved dramatically. His command was sharpening bit by bit, and the splitter's bite was getting nastier by the day. Rexon had never seen anyone progress this fast in such a short time.
Finishing his session, Yoo Min-hoo took a deep breath, pulled off his glove, and headed to the corner of the bullpen. He fiddled with the camera he'd set up there—the one that had just recorded his pitches. Watching the footage, he tilted his head, then experimentally whipped his left arm around, studying the video intently.
Rexon watched and spoke up. "Roy, don't you feel any pressure?"
"Pressure about what?" Yoo Min-hoo glanced up from the screen, puzzled.
"Chamber's back. He's gunning for your spot."
Chamber was the kind of talent who could absolutely challenge Yoo Min-hoo for closer duties. Rexon figured the kid had to know that.
Yoo Min-hoo just smirked. "Why worry? If he throws better than me, that's that."
He sounded utterly indifferent, turning back to the camera without a second thought. Rexon chuckled dryly to himself. Like it's someone else's problem...
Of course, that didn't mean Yoo Min-hoo would hand over the role without a fight.
If Chamber's stuff hasn't changed much since spring camp, it might be tough to separate them.
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May 1st. Beloit's home game at Harry C. Pullman Field.
Riding the momentum from last month, Beloit's bats were doing their job against the opposing pitchers, scraping together just enough runs. The hallmark of a well-balanced team was scoring what you needed without giving up extras—and that's exactly where Beloit stood. Up 5-3 through the bottom of the eighth.
Now, top of the ninth. Time for the closer. Manager Wyndham couldn't avoid the dilemma any longer.
Roy or Chamber...?
Chamber's return had given Beloit two closers. Lineup headaches were par for the course in the minors, but that didn't make them easy. Wyndham hadn't expected a Double-A demote like Chamber to drop all the way to Single-A, and now it was a headache.
On pedigree alone, Chamber Ricky's a cut above Roy.
No denying Chamber's talent, even after the Double-A flop. After a quick instructional league stint post-draft last year, he'd joined the team and dominated from day one. Yoo Min-hoo? A greenhorn with barely three months of pro ball under his belt. Stability pointed to Chamber.
But I can't kill the momentum of a kid who's dealing.
Wyndham clicked his tongue inwardly. Yoo Min-hoo's hot streak made it tricky to bench him—and Wyndham himself had handed him the closer gig.
Still, Chamber needs this to rebuild his confidence.
A touch arrogant, sure, but Chamber had a sensitive side. Demotion like this had to sting. Arms crossed, Wyndham steeled himself and reached for the bullpen intercom.
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Thwack! The ball drilled into the mitt with a vicious crack.
Chamber glanced back after his max-effort throw.
Thwump! Another heavy thud—Yoo Min-hoo.
Lefty Yoo Min-hoo, righty Chamber. They faced away from each other, bullpen partners in parallel practice.
Fastball's got pop, Chamber thought. Command wasn't elite, but the ball exploded. Yoo Min-hoo's top speed hit 96 mph—two ticks above Chamber's best.
Pausing his session, Chamber wiped sweat, sat on the bench, and eyed Yoo Min-hoo. The media had hyped this guy since the stove season, piquing his interest. But Chamber wasn't the chatty type.
Yoo Min-hoo saw no need to break the ice either. They'd shared the bullpen without a word.
Chamber watched in silence. Practice rat.
Obvious type. Competition.
They were vying for the same job. Didn't mean Chamber disliked him—rivalry wasn't personal. He wasn't petty enough to hate someone just for competing. If he were, his relationships would've imploded long ago. Frosty with most Beloit guys, sure, but he'd clicked with battery-mate Tyrone, thanks to the catcher's easygoing vibe.
As Chamber pondered, Yoo Min-hoo wrapped up, sat, and pulled a notebook from his bag.
Curiosity won. "What's that?"
Yoo Min-hoo turned calmly. "Opposing hitters' intel."
"Hm?"
"Inning's flipping soon." He flipped the page toward Chamber.
Chamber snorted. "Didn't peg you for the meticulous type."
Power fastball, sharp splitter—classic two-pitch power arm. Those guys usually ignored scouting, just overpowered with their stuff. Chamber was the same: trusted his velocity over minutiae.
Yoo Min-hoo just smirked in response.
Chamber pressed on, unimpressed. "Acting like you're pitching next inning."
"That a problem?"
"Not a problem, but I've got this?"
Meant I might take your spot—but it could sound like you won't pitch. Chamber's blunt style sparked fights often.
Yoo Min-hoo shrugged. "Manager's call is anyone's guess. Better safe than sorry."
"Fair enough."
Conversation died. Inning flipped. Intercom buzzed.
Rexon, who'd eavesdropped silently, picked up. "Got it," he said, then paused before announcing, "Chamber."
"Yeah."
"Get ready."
"On it."
Chamber grabbed his glove, adjusted his cap, and headed out. Brushing past Yoo Min-hoo, he tossed casually, "Rest up today."
After he left, Rexon sighed. "Always says it like that."
"Like what?"
"Didn't he just poke at you?"
Yoo Min-hoo tilted his head. No malice detected. Chamber didn't strike him as the trash-talk type—too prideful for petty jabs.
Gazing at Chamber's retreating figure, Yoo Min-hoo recalled team scuttlebutt. Mostly negative, but Tyrone and Wyndham spoke well of him. Piecing it together: Misunderstood type.
He snapped his notebook shut and packed up. Chamber was legit—no pitching for him today.
And right on cue, Chamber fanned two, induced a groundout, and slammed the door. Dominant.
From the bullpen, Yoo Min-hoo narrowed his eyes. Velocity, command, movement—all elite.
Even better than expected. Not Single-A level. Double-A ace material.
Yet he'd bombed there and dropped down. No injury from the stuff. Team fit issue.
Yoo Min-hoo shook his head. Zero pressure about the rivalry.